


The First Dance

by greygerbil



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaaras Adaar picks a dance partner not included on the usual LI side of things. Written for a kinkmeme prompt that asked for Varric to get a dance at the Winter Palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Dance

The night air was pleasantly cool, but the flowers under the balcony gave off a heavy smell, sweet like rotting flesh and death. Kaaras wrinkled his nose. He wondered what the odour reminded normal people of. All these Venatori corpses collapsing over his shield and body parts stuck on his mace were taking a toll on his sanity.

“It’s not a true Orlesian party until a few people die, is it?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Varric step out onto the balcony. The dwarf looked handsome in the formal uniform, although there was a disappointing lack of visible chest hair thanks to the high collar.

“We also did find that naked guy tied to the bed. A prerequisite for any good political intrigue.” There was no one following Varric, which was a relief. Kaaras had come out here to clear his head. Varric’s presence didn’t prevent him from that, but a throng of people who needed his attention and assurances might have. Leaning next to him against the balustrade, Varric looked up to the darkening sky.

“I’ll admit it: I didn’t think you could force these three chuckleheads to work together and behave like the kind of adults you’d conceivably want running a country. Good work, Herald.”

“I _did_ have to blackmail them into diplomacy.”

“Peace treaties based on necessity rather than goodwill have a tendency to last longer.”

Kaaras nodded his head, trying to keep the melancholy that was trying to creep up away. They looked out into the valley. The first stars were showing overhead. After having brooded over roughly half a million astraria, Kaaras was beginning to learn their patterns.

“What’s on your mind, your Inquisitorialness?”

Turning again, Kaaras made sure that they were still alone. Morale was a hard thing to come by these days and he wouldn’t want to dash any informant’s dreams of the infallible herald.

“All this nonsense is beginning to make me wonder what the point is of dragging the world kicking and screaming along,” he admitted. “Seems every corner I turn, I find no shortage of people who want to give Corypheus a great big welcome hug.”

“Not to steal Sera’s lines, but I’ve also seen enough men and women who would rather just grow their crops and run their market stalls,” Varric answered, looking up at him. “I don’t think you’re working against the will of the masses here. I can’t promise you you’re always doing the right thing, it’s hard to tell these days, but personally... I think you’re doing just fine.”

If the warmth curling in his chest would have been only gratitude for Varric’s reliable and level-headed friendship, this might have been a perfect moment to remember whenever his spirits were a little low. Of course, it wasn’t quite as simple as that. Kaaras manage to find his smile once more, though.

“Apologies for whining. I promise I’ll get back into hero mode presently.”

“Take your time. Just don’t go back in there with your shield lowered. Orlesian nobility must’ve bred with their fancy staghounds at some point. They spot a limping opponent from a mile away.”

Kaaras chuckled.

“You handled them more graciously than I thought you might. Your fan club seemed delighted with you.”

“Well, they are my readers. I try to be civil,” Varric said, grinning. “Besides, I’ve had practice.”

“You’ve been to many Orlesian parties?”

“Worse: Merchant Guild dinners. My brother used to host these kinds of parties all the time. He organised them well – nug dishes as far as the eye could see, that’s really all you need for most kalnas. However, Bartrand was always as charming as a testy quillback. He knew it, too. Making sure the guests didn’t kill each other over Lyrium contracts at the dinner table was my job. I tell you, Orlesian nobles dream of being as ruthless as a dwarven deshyr after the third mug of mushroom ale.”

“I know who I’m taking to every official function from now until Corypheus’ pet dragon puts his tail through my head.”

The playfully pained noise Varric made was almost drowned out by the music swelling once more. Kaaras knew he was expected to be in there.

“I know for a fact there’s at least half a dozen noblewomen waiting to win your hand with a dance. You’re so good they’ll risk their children having horns,” Varric joked.

Kaaras snorted. It was so difficult to remember that he’d been about to lose his faith in people when Varric was around. The music played on and he could see couples forming through the open door, people moving towards the ballroom floor, little pieces in this annoying Game. Perhaps there was a good move for him to make here, too, though.

Kaaras pushed himself off the balustrade. He’d just cowed the three biggest players of the Game and made them traipse back into the ball room with their tails between their legs. There was no way this question was too intimidating for him, even is his heart _was_ beating in his throat. Kaaras held out his hand to the dwarf.

“As much fun as diversifying the Orlesian bloodlines sounds like, I was actually wondering if you would help me entertain the crowd.”

Varric looked at his hand and then at his face and seemed unsure what he was seeing. “What?”

“Back in the courtyard with your adoring audience, you said you don’t dance much anymore. That implies you did at some point.”

“True, but I reach up to your navel. It’ll look just slightly ridiculous.”

Kaaras hoped to the Maker or Old Gods or whatever listened that Varric’s reservations were on dancing only. 

“We’re good-looking enough to make up for it,” he said, his smile still frozen in place.

The dwarf hesitated another moment. Then, with something between a sigh and a breathy laugh, he rested his fingers lightly Kaaras’ arm. “I think the protocol answer is: I’d be honoured, your worship.”

It took only seconds for all eyes to turn to them when they entered the room. Momentarily, the music seemed drowned out in Kaaras’ ears as the buzz of whispers swelled until it sounded like a disoriented swarm of bees. Kaaras actually stumbled over his own feet as they walked up to one of the entrances to the dancefloor, but Varric led the way, back straight, undeterred, as if he waded through the entire Orlesian top one hundred with a Qunari by his side every day. Seemed like he hadn’t been bullshitting about being able to act his part around nobles.

Kaaras spotted Vivienne among the onlookers. She’d apparently been involved in some doomed-to-fail attempt at restraining Sera (because how could Kaaras _not_ have brought Sera, really) from doing something with the food before they caught her attention. Her lack of insistence drew the elf’s gaze, too. Sera’s high-pitched laugh rang even through the scandalised murmurs.

The pairs on the dancefloor were turning gracefully. Once they’d arrived, he positioned himself the way he’d learned, or as close as the two of them could get to it, anyway. When Varric reached up for his hand, it was just about at the height of Kaaras’ chest. His right hand found a spot on Varric’s shoulder while the dwarf rested his other hand lightly against Kaaras’ side.

Kaaras silently counted in his head to enter them into the dance. The first movements were sufficiently awkward as Varric’s step fell way short for Kaaras’ long legs and the herald consequently almost kicked Varric’s feet out under him. Varric’s chuckle broke their silence.

“Let’s try that again,” Kaaras mouthed.

Kaaras cut the length of his steps in half and Varric, who needed to be fleet-footed so his head wouldn’t be chopped off by Red Templars on the battlefield, adapted. Left foot forward, right foot side, left foot close, and suddenly it was pretty easy, like pieces slotting together. Varric matched him with swift and clean movements. Kaaras was thinking about the music rather than his own feet and had enough concentration left to be embarrassingly gleeful about Varric squeezing his hand.

“So, where does a Tal-Vashoth learn to dance like that?”

“You assume Josephine is not ruthless enough to lock me in my quarters with a dance teacher every night, after I come back from fighting demons,” Kaaras muttered. “She was a tough old bat. Educator to the rich and powerful, supposedly taught about half the people in this room... if I’d stepped on her foot, she’d have spanked me.” With a guiding hand, he led them a touch to the left so they wouldn’t collide with the closest couple of dancers that had halted completely, probably trying to catch their conversation. “You’re by far my favourite dance partner out of all I’ve had.”

Laughing, the dwarf separated from him on the high note of the lute, only their fingers still touching, then rejoined him in the next turn, moving with him again. “I’m better company than a hardass Orlesian governess and Corypheus’ deluded lapdog. You’re a flatterer.”

“Sorry, I don’t usually have to try on the charming front. I have a friend who has a silver tongue. He gets all the good lines.”

The dwarf rolled his eyes, looking entirely too pleased to play annoyed.

“This is fun,” Varric said, after a while. “I used to like dancing, but if you do it at Merchant Caste balls, everyone immediately thinks you’re a couple of inter-family contract negotiations away from marrying the girl who shares your first dance.”

“Now it’s just the whole Orlesian court that thinks you’re bedding the Inquisitor,” Kaaras pointed out.

“That’ll be one of the few complimentary rumours I’ve ever heard about me.”

And now Kaaras smiled from horn to horn, which was probably a bad thing to do. You were never allowed honest reactions in the Orlesian court.

They danced until the musicians took a short break and Kaaras could see the sky was black-blue like expensive Orlesian velvet when he looked out of the high windows. Kaaras kept hold of Varric’s hand for a moment too long.

They ascended the stairs, dodging a few whispering attendants and a couple of servants. Varric took a goblet of wine from their tray and offered it to Kaaras after he’d taken a sip.

“So... the night’s still young. What do we do until Ruffles comes and chews us out for our indecent display?”

“Actually, there’s a locked door in the library I haven’t managed to get open,” Kaaras said after downing the wine and leaving the goblet on a small table. “I could use a man of your talents.”

“We’re going to mysteriously vanish after our dance? That’s going to raise a few eyebrows.”

“I’m a Tal-Vashoth mercenary, I think that excludes me from ever getting far here as a respectable courtier. I was going for a ‘delightfully shocking’ image.”

The dwarf laughed. “That sounds like a terrible idea. I’ll help you.”

In the back room of the library, Kaaras found himself enjoying the relative silence. No more wicked whispers, no swords clashing on armours, just the tiny metallic sound of Varric’s pin in the lock. He’d just leaned back against the wall when Varric’s hands stopped moving.

“Huh. That’s odd.”

“What is?”

The dwarf waved at him. “You’ll have to take a closer look, big boy. Hard to see from all the way up there.”

Kaaras went down to one knee, obediently moving in to inspect the lock. “I don’t-”

He interrupted himself when Varric leaned in and kissed his cheek. A flick of the dwarf’s wrist was followed by a _click_ as the perfectly ordinary lock opened. Varric smiled at him.

“Thanks for the dance, Inquisitor.”


End file.
